Monday 6th October: Haunting‏ in Pontivy

I was revising the chapters of my historical novel when Karl phoned, asking if I would help him pick up some furniture from Pontivy. I always liked that town and needed a break, so was happy to go along.

We arrived early and stopped for a coffee in a cafe by the river. Although the weather wasn't as warm as it has been, this was an advantage as it kept most of the tourists away. Karl explained he'd received an e-mail with details of a chest of drawers and a bureau, which would be left for him to pick up from the study of an empty house in the outskirts of the town.

The house, a lovely old granite building with dark blue shutters, built around the 1850's. We picked up the key from the old lady living next door who explained that the family had left several weeks ago and were planning to sell up. The key was stiff to turn in the heavy oak door but we finally pushed it open and found ourselves in a stone tiled hallway leading off into a kitchen. It looked as if the family had just gone out and were due to return at any moment; saucepans left on the stove, discarded cups of coffee and a tea towel laying on the floor. Two chairs were pulled out from under the table and several of the cupboard doors had been left open. The room smelt stale and musty.

"Are you sure there's no one here? " I asked.

Karl looked puzzled. "That's what they told me." He called out. "Bonjour. Il y a quelqu'un?"

No reply.

The kitchen led into a living room with another room at the back; an office containing a desk scattered with papers, a computer and piles of unopened mail. It was in this room we found the chest of drawers and the bureau which Karl recognised from the pictures he'd been sent.

He opened the top drawer of the chest to find it full of notebooks, letters and handwritten notes. We emptied all four drawers, making a pile of the contents in one of the corners of the room. The bureau mostly contained bundles of pens and packets of stationary.

I was still intrigued about the place and suggested we take a look upstairs before we leave. As we climbed the winding staircase I commented how the musty smell had become sweet and sickly; like a cloying perfume. Karl thought it might be coming from the vase of dead roses which stood on the windowsill (but I somehow doubted it).

On the first floor we found three bedrooms and a bathroom. The beds were all made and the cupboards and wardrobes were full. The rooms were untidy with clothes strewn about as if someone had been in a hurry to leave. We went up the next flight of stairs and found two attic bedrooms. In one of the rooms the little dormer window was open and, as soon as we stepped inside, a gust of wind blew the door shut.

Karl bent to pick up a piece of paper from the centre of the floor. He looked at it then, saying nothing, handed it to me. On the note, hand-written in bold capital letters, was the name Anne. As soon as I'd read the name the room suddenly felt icily cold. Then three distinct taps on the bedroom door. Neither of us moved. We just looked at each other.

"Did you hear that?" Karl whispered.

I crept over to the door and opened it: no one there. I could hear a telephone ringing downstairs, but stopped after three rings. We went down to the study to collect the furniture. Just as we lifted up the bureau, the telephone on the office desk started to ring again: three short rings.

Karl picked it up. "Allo?" He waited, replaced the receiver and turned to me. "I think we should go now."

We loaded up the van and went back into the study to fetch the chest of drawers. As we were carrying it out the phone rang again. This time, I answered it on the second ring: silence.

Once the furniture was in the van we returned the key to the neighbour. Karl handed her an envelope containing the money for the furniture. She was a small white haired lady who peered at us over the top of her glasses. Karl asked if there was anyone in the house. She assured us there was not. When we told her about the phone ringing, she laughed. "C'est impossible!" She told us the phone was disconnected. We must have both been staring at her in shock because she laughed again, shook her head and closed the door.

On the way back Karl told me he'd be glad to get rid of the furniture. He planned to restore both pieces and sell them on as soon as possible.

It was raining when we got to his place. Once the van was unloaded we sat in his kitchen, speculating the afternoon's events. Why had the family left so suddenly? Had they been scared off by something? I asked him what he thought about the piece of paper with the name Anne. He said it was strange how it appeared in the centre of the carpet; as if waiting for us to pick it up. Neither of us noticed it when we first stepped into the room. What shook us most was the three taps on the door. Although we tried to explain it away, in out hearts we both knew what we'd heard and neither of us have been able to come up with any rational explanation so far.

Wednesday 1st October: Runaway

The practice this evening at Alexander's took a totally unexpected turn. I didn't think I'd be able to get to Carnac in the first place, my Peugeot was making such a loud rattling noise. By the time I arrived I was so stressed, I'd been imagining the car was about to blow up any minute.

I was describing the noise to Alexander when Rodrigo arrived. He looked worried, telling us that Kieron, the young English boy from the campsite who had come to one of our previous rehearsals, had gone missing. His mother and sisters had been away in the UK nearly two months, leaving him on his own and he had become more withdrawn. He'd been spending most of the day with Tatiana and Rodrigo, but recently had become more distant . He hadn't been playing his guitar any more and spent hours alone in his caravan. When Tatiana called round to see him this morning there was no answer. The caravan was unlocked and a complete mess inside. She was worried, but no one, including the campsite owners, had any contact details for Kieron's mother.

Rodrigo was telling us this and considering whether to call the police when Ines arrived (always the last to turn up at rehearsals). She announced that she had someone she wanted us to meet; a stocky dark-haired man in his forties who she introduced as Gavin. Ines explained that he was an opera singer and had sung at Glyndebourne and recently performed in Milan. She proudly listed of his operatic accomplishments. They had met whilst she was on holiday in Florence. Gavin was describing the rigours of operatic training when Alexander came into the kitchen. "Guess who I just found in the summer house!" Behind him, looking bedraggled and somewhat embarrassed, was Kieron. Rodrigo rushed over and gave him a hug. We asked what he'd been doing in the summerhouse. Apparently, his mother had left him with a small amount of money before she left for the U.K, reassuring him she'd soon be back. However, the campsite owners had been demanding rent from him. Every time he phoned his mother she promised to send more money, but none arrived. His mother is contacting him less and less while the campsite owners continue to harass him, and now he can't even afford to phone her. Rodrigo told him not to worry, assuring him that he could stay with them in their camper van.

Kieron told us he had slept in the summerhouse, intending to leave early in the morning to look for work at the cafés in Carnac. Alexander suggested, rather than return to the campsite, he could stay with him and Simone as they have plenty of room in their house. He told Kieron to go and have a shower and see what he could find to eat in the kitchen. Poor boy; such a relief on his face.

It was difficult to get much practice done as Ines seemed self conscious singing in front of Gavin. She also insisted that he sing for us. At first he objected, but I could tell he loved the attention. He gave us a rendition of Nessun Dorma which was a treat, but Ines was a bit over the top with her praise and applause. They left soon after that, explaining that Gavin had a plane to catch early the next morning. We packed up soon after they'd gone as Rodrigo was anxious to get back to tell Tatiana about Kieron.

I was worried about my return journey but managed to make it back home with the car in one piece! 

Saturday 27th September: (Part Two): Festival Kernours

Celine phoned on Friday and arranged to pick me up yesterday as she was keen to go to Festival Kernours at nearby Kervignac. On the way there she put on a C.D by a Breton rock band called Merzhinwhich, according to the sleeve notes, featured a traditional instrument called as bombard which has a kind of mellow oboe sound. (I don't know how Celine can drive and listen to music at the same time - I'd crash into the nearest wall!).

I was very interested to discover a workshop at the festival all about edible wild herbs. We watched a cooking demonstration of several Breton dishes including Far Cake, Friko Kaol (a kind of cabbage, meat and potato casserole), and another recipe of which I've forgotten the name. 

The music at the festival was very good. I particularly enjoyed TheSavaty Orkestar; featuring drum, fiddle, accordion and trombone (an unusual combination of instruments). While I chatted to the accordionist, a guy called Wenceslas (never met anyone with that name before), Celine had taken a fancy a the singer/guitarist who had been performing that afternoon. When she returned, armed with two CDs from her guitarist, we went over to a food stall and each tried a Galette-Saucisse (sausage wrapped in a cold pancake) which didn't look particularly appetising but tasted good. I also had a bowl of the Friko Kaol which was very tasty. 

Back at my place we sat outside in the garden. Celine pointed out that my hanging baskets looked neglected. I had to admit I'd been so busy marketing my books I've not been watering them lately. I told her the story of Jean-Luc and Hilda and how I'm still concerned about him. She suggested going to see him, but apart from that, didn't know what else to do.

It was a clear sky and we talked outside until late in the evening.

Saturday 27th September: (Part One) The Caricature

Up at 6.30 this morning and I got right into the draft of my historical novel. I worked through until 9.00 before taking a break. As I needed some bread, I drove to the village and dropped into the cafe-bar for a coffee and croissant (there are times when I yearn for a full English breakfast!). I was about to close the cafe door when I paused. I was shocked. Taped to the inside was a printed cartoon drawing of a cow and farmer gazing into each other's eyes. 

The caption read, Les Amoureux (The Lovers) and it was surrounded by a circle of red hearts: unmistakably a caricature of Hilda and Jean-Luc. I approached Pascal who was polishing glasses at the counter and asked him about it. After telling him about Jean-Luc's troubles I asked him if he would take the picture down. At first Pascal pretended not to understand. I pointed to two other copies behind the bar and another by the television. He eventually sighed and promised to remove them, muttering that the English have no humour. I noticed his smirk when he brought over my coffee and croissant. He then asked if I knew a woman with dark hair. At first I couldn't think who he meant. But when he told me the woman had been in several times asking about me; wanting to know if I went there often and who I came with. I knew then he was talking about Adele. I told him I had no idea who the woman could be. (Pascal is the biggest gossip in the village and not to be trusted). After that, I'd lost my appetite and left half my croissant (a rare thing for me as I hate wasting food). On my way out I took the poster down and slipped it in my pocket to show Karl.

Celine has just turned up. I forgot we had planned to go to a festival this-afternoon. I'll finish this blog later (tomorrow).

Sunday 21st September: Billet Doux‏

Karl called round this afternoon. He was worried about Jean-Luc and Marie and suggested it might be an idea to call on them.

As we parked in front of their farmhouse, I pointed out the freshly painted window sills and front door with tubs of geraniums standing either side. We waited a few moments then entered. Marie was humming to herself, crouching over a dish in the oven. The kitchen was transformed; dishes washed and drying in the rack, the tiled floor swept and mopped and the table covered with a red and white tablecloth, a vase with lavender placed in the centre. Bruno lay asleep on the armchair surrounded by cushions.

Marie smiled at us as we came in and invited us to sit at the table. She began searching through the pockets of a tattered denim rucksack hanging on the back of the door. She took out a piece of crumpled paper, smoothed it out, and laid it flat on the table. It dawned on me that she had prepared a speech for our visit.

She cleared her throat, took a deep breath and picked up the piece of paper. In her hesitant English she thanked us for helping Jean-Luc and explained that he had been very ill and worried about money but was now well. She paused and beamed as we clapped.

I asked where Jean-Luc was. She told us he was outside checking on the cows.

Karl gave me a meaningful look as we went out to look for him, and I had had a sinking feeling: Did Jean-Luc still believe Hilda possessed prophetic powers? We caught sight of him, head lowered and ambling up from the corner of the field where a group of cows stood. One of them was undoubtedly Hilda, but I had no idea which. He waved his hand in greeting but after this lapsed into his customary silence. I had the distinct feeling he was covering up. However, he was polite enough to invite us back to the kitchen and offered us a couple of beers. Marie watched in silence.

There is obviously still a problem with Jean-Luc. I'm not sure what it is and I don't think there's any easy answer. On the drive back Karl suggested that he should see a doctor for depression. 

When we arrived back at my place, a book was sitting on the doorstep with a note. I thought it might be from Celine, but when I went to pick it up I noticed the note was signed by Adele written in large capitals. The book was The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco. Karl waited as I read the note. It was written in English; "I think you will like this book. You remember when we see the movie at the cinema?" I tried to laugh this off but felt somewhat uneasy about it. Adele had been here, at my cottage. Karl suggested I should just ignore her, but I can't help wondering what she's after. 

Pieter came back from London this evening so I looked after Pepin whilst Solange and the children went to the airport to meet him. They were a lot longer than expected, as his suitcase was lost at Gatwick. He seemed relieved to be home, especially as it was Madeleine's third birthday today. Pepin had spent most of the time waiting at the garden fence for their return: true devotion! 

Wednesday 17th September: Sur la Plage‏

When I arrived back from Intermarche this-morning Solange was hanging out the washing (she works from home, preparing accounts for small businesses). She told me Pieter is away in London for a few days on business and she's worried about completing the preparations for an important meeting with one of her clients. She hadn't been able to get any work done as she was being harassed by Pepin who was constantly bringing his ball over to her to play. She was desperate to get the work done before Madeleine finished kindergarten so I offered to take Pepin for a walk on Carnac beach. (I'd been tweeting on Twitter and friending on Facebook since 6.30 in the morning so I was pleased to have an excuse for a break). I phoned Celine to see if she wanted to come and we arranged to meet at Ty Bihan, one of the smaller and more peaceful beaches at Carnac. Pepin was totally hyped up; barking and scraping his paws at the window every time I slowed the car down. I told to be quiet but it only made him bark louder and we ended up having a shouting contest!

Celine was already waiting when we arrived. She'd brought along a bag for collecting sea glass. As we walked along the beach she told me how, as a little girl, she and her brother used to spend endless summers on the beach collecting for her grandmother who had bottle lamps with the bases filled with shells and sea-glass. She was reminded of a legend her grandmother used to tell her about a unicorn who lived on the beach at Carnac and slept in a cave at St.Malo. (Seems a long way to travel each day!)

We searched amongst the seaweed for glass, Pepin pulling impatiently on his lead. Every time we stopped he'd run circles around me, getting the lead tangled until I lost my balance. I had to keep a firm hold as Solange had warned me not to let him run off. We stood to watch the boats in the bay and I told Celine about the mystery man on the yacht at the gig last week. He reminded me of the novels by Patricia Highsmith, in which the anti hero, Tom Ripley, got away with his crimes by fooling and manipulating the other characters in the story. It was at this point that Pepin spotted a man running along the beach with two labradors. The lead slipped from my fingers and off he went, racing towards the other dogs. He then made an abrupt detour towards the rock pools as the man with the labradors disappeared in the opposite direction. When we looked there was no sign of Pepin. We called his name; must have spent about fifteen minutes pacing up and down the beach. I began to panic. What would Solange say? What if Pepin had run onto the road! Celine kept reassuring me, saying he would soon come back and couldn't have gone far. But there was no sign of him. The beach was deserted. By now, I was really worried. 

Celine went over to speak to an elderly couple who were strolling arm in arm along the sands. She came back to me with a smile. Pepin was at the cafe at the top of the beach. The couple told her that had been sitting outside enjoying a coffee when Pepin came running up, chasing the seagulls who were busy stealing food from the tables and the waitress had carried him inside. When we arrived it was clear Pepin was loving all the attention; accepting offerings of scraps and leftovers with the two waitresses fussing over him. What a relief! They were happy to watch him while we had a coffee outside on the terrace. I told Celine I'd never had a dog as a child. She said her grandmother had a spaniel called Beau and when he died, she replaced him with an identical spaniel which they called Beau the Second.

Arrived back and handed Pepin back who bounded over to Solange as soon as he saw her then slumped, exhausted on the rug. (Just as well dogs can't talk!) 

Saturday 13th September: Visitors from Arizona

Woke this morning in a good mood, feeling pleased with last night's gig.

When I arrived at the marina at Kernevel it was a lovely warm evening with just a slight breeze. I loaded all my equipment (keyboard, amp, speakers, etc.) onto a trolley and had to edge my way down a steep ramp to the pontoon. A man was watching from the deck of his boat and seemed to find the whole process amusing. When I reached the bottom he commented "Tres dificle, non?" (It would have been nice if he'd offered to help). 

The Flying Pheonix was easy to find; flood-lit with streamers and banners festooned along the rails and a couple of waitress's weaving through the guests with trays of drinks and canapés. As soon as I set up, the host, Judith, came over and asked if I'd like a glass of champagne to get me started. She explained that it was her husband's 60th birthday, telling me they lived in Phoenix, Arizona, and normally moored in Marbella but occasionally sailed up to Brittany as they both loved the area, having several good friends here.

Once I settled in with my usual routine I tried WhenI Was Your Man by Bruno Mars, a new piece I've been working on which seemed to go down well. Larry (Judith's husband) asked if I could play something by Gershwin, and luckily I had the music for Summertime which he seemed happy with.

During my first break the host's son, Brian, and his partner, Jason, came over to say how much they enjoyed the music (particularly SorrySeems to Be the Hardest Word by Elton John: their most favourite song in the world!). Neither of them had been to France before; Brian admitting he wasn't into sailing like his parents. He introduced me to his sister Melissa, who was chatting to me when a smartly dressed man approached us. He told us he was from Nice and owned a yacht which he kept at Cannes. When I mentioned I was from the U.K he said he'd recently spent a weekend with Prince Harry and his wife. He went into great detail about the hampers of food from Harrods which the Royal couple had delivered to their country estate in Gloucestershire. Melissa seemed puzzled at this but listened politely as he boasted how the Royals were planning a visit to his home in Nice, a luxurious villa with tennis courts, two swimming pools, a gym and extensive grounds. It was as he launched into a description of his indoor cinema when Melissa interrupted, asking the name of Prince Harry's wife.

He paused and looked at her.

"It's just that I didn't think he was married," she added.

At this the man shrugged and wandered off. I asked Melissa how her parents knew him, she said she wasn't sure, and we both agreed he was behaving oddly.

It was during my second break, as I was chatting to Judith and Melissa about Phoenix when we noticed Larry talking to the smartly dressed man. We could hear him questioning him about who he was and where he came from. Judith looked worried, saying she'd never seen him before. Most of the guests were also listening when Larry ordered him to go. We all watched the man stroll along the marina, seemingly unconcerned.

The evening had started off warm but, once the sun went down, it started to get really cold. I was positioned in the worst place with the cold breeze blowing up from the open water behind me. By the time I got to the end of my final set, my fingers were freezing. It was a relief to finish.

Coco was waiting for me at the door when I got home - she probably gets less attention since Pepin arrived.

I'm still not sure whether to get on with my historical novel (which only has a few chapters to complete), or get back to the psychological thriller (only about 50K words down). I need to get on with something creative, away from all the marketing.